


Thunder in the Distance

by Linky



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 21:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4074265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linky/pseuds/Linky





	Thunder in the Distance

            The night was late, though dawn still many hours from breaking. Even at this hour he could not sleep. A sad thing that, for sleeping had long been a favourite pastime. But sleeping meant dreaming, and for Solas, dreaming meant the Fade. The Fade – more like home than any house he’d ever been in, yet now all he saw was _her_. She came and went from the fade as though she owned it, and well she had a right to feel that way, the mark on her hand gave her more of a right than he. If he let himself glimpse her, he knew he would be there for hours, watching and wishing that it had all been different. Tormenting himself with dreams of what it could have been like had he not been too much of a coward to stay; too much of a fool to doubt her strength. What would it have it been like if they had met in the days of Arlathan, he often found himself wondering, with eternity to spend together and no darkness to lay blame at his feet.

            He watched her dreams sometimes, and in her most tender moments, watched her dreams of him, though he knew he should look away. There was still a softness for him, buried deep beyond the grief, but he watched, too, in sorrow as the sweetness of her dream turned to contempt. The words she spoke to him would echo, as though even the Fade wanted him to understand the repercussions of what he had done. She would wake then, disappearing mercifully from view. Just in time. Just before he softly called out _Vhenan_ , my heart. Words like vipers were flung from her lips the last time he dared call her that. What heart? She had asked, voice so shrill with hurt, show me your heart and I’ll show you a traitor.

            There was thunder. It was in the distance for him, the sky where he lay was clear and calm, but there was thunder for her. Her sky raged. It would never end, though she had sealed the tears in the heavens. A memory. Just a little glimmer, such a sweet, tepid that thing he wondered at how it scalded him. How she would cling to him during the stormy nights, flinching in fear as the sky shook, but eyes bright and enthralled by the raw power. Soft skin. Softer hair.

            You should consider a career in the theatre. Another of her hurt-inspired comments. Not an act, he assured, it was real. But was it always? He had loved her so completely by the end, that he felt he must have loved her all his life. And yet…? Liar. Traitor. _Your_ fault. He had prepared himself for those. But they had only come after, once he told her it was finished, done with. What he had not foreseen was the small, shattered expression of realisation. Her voice quietly sighing, it was you. Expectant. But she had stayed. She had forgiven. And he had fled.

            Though he knew better, he searched for some small sign of her. Visited places they had once been to together. A bench in a secluded alcove where their hands first shyly met. An ice-hardened lakeside where she had kissed him, withdrawn in doubt when she noticed his stillness, and he had pulled her firmly back. An Orlesian castle balcony, where she had criticised his taste in hats, a smile playing on her lips, and he had asked her to dance. There were other memories, passionate, bare ones, that he would not let himself think of. He did not deserve the joy he had found in those moments. Did not deserve to see how she had given him everything, and he had taken it.

            All he heard of her now was rumours. The world was in an uproar because their hero had disappeared. She was slain by dragon. She had become the Divine. She was dead. She had gone mad. She had her heart broken. She was driven by vengeance. Her name, he asked in taverns when he stopped for news, did anyone know her name? No. The Herald of Andraste. The Inquisitor. But not a name. Not even the Dalish knew of her. Her clan was decimated. Destroyed. And she was gone. It was what he had wanted. Hoped for. It was better this way. Yet he still found himself searching for her face amongst a crowd of people. Stopping in his tracks when a woman laughed, was it her? It never was. How long had it been now? A year. Or was it four? A hundred? He didn’t really know. Time did not seem to be passing at all, just the endless sleeplessness.

            The worst part was not that he just _missed_ her _so much_ , but that he knew she missed him too. Her smile was almost forgotten to him, she had not smiled much before their parting – too much resting on her shoulders. She smiled even less when the truth was told. He thought she could not look sadder than when he told her the Dalish tattoos she so proudly wore were a mark of ancient slavery, but she was constantly proving him wrong. Even in this.

             “Niamh.” He sighed, her name falling from his lips out of habit, as though he could push out the hurt and sadness along with it. But it remained, coiled like a snake in the pit of his heart. One day, he vowed, he would go back. It might be just for a moment, just to tell her that even now it was not an act, that he would carry the memory of her with him into beyond. Empty vows. He’d made promises to not let her close too, but he could not resist.

“I wanted to let you go that day.” Maybe she would hear, if he said it in the fade, “I wanted to tell you that I felt nothing. But I could not. You consumed my thoughts, opened my eyes to the beauty that was still left in this world. I have to make it right, don’t you see? Not just for them, but for you.”


End file.
